Hogwarts, Another History
by Erque
Summary: Rose supposed the only thing she could be thankful for was the fact that she was not Harry Potter. Except, the way that so many people were staring at her and expecting her to start doing things was making her think, yes, perhaps she was Harry Potter.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Rose Weasley, for one, was not a fan of parties. Don't get the wrong idea; she wasn't _antisocial_, per se. She just did not enjoy extravagant events with too much noise and too many people and too much dancing.

_Oh, how she loathed dancing. _What was the point, after all? What on earth did writhing around to generic music in a pit of sweaty strangers accomplish?

Nothing, is what.

So you can imagine her complete vexation when she was dragged to the Burrow to help prepare for Uncle Harry's birthday extravaganza. It was Harry Potter's fortieth birthday, and the night was guaranteed to have people _and_ music _and_ dancing.

Rose supposed the only thing she could be thankful for was the fact that _she _was not Harry Potter.

Except, the way that so many people were staring at her and expecting her to start _doing_ things was making her think, yes, perhaps she _was_ Harry Potter.

"Rosie!" her grandmother's voice pierced through Rose's thoughts.

"I am not Harry Potter," Rose muttered desperately to the empty corridor.

"Of course you're not hairy," a sleepy voice came from a redheaded woman dozing off in her portrait.

Rose gave the portrait a whithering glare. She wondered if she could find a way to steal some firewhisky from the bar.

"ROSIE!"

"Just a minute!" Rose lied.

"ROSIE, THE BLOODY SILVERWARE IS NOT GOING TO SET ITSELF!"

Rose took this as a cue to turn around, and find somewhere to _hide_. She had experienced Molly-Weasley-on-crack before. It would start with setting silverware. And then, she would ask, with wide brown won't-you-please-just-help-your-grandmother eyes, for her to do something really awful, like fold all the napkins into lightning bolts.

And really, Rose thought with exasperation, Molly Weasley was a _witch_. What did she need the help of an underage 15-year-old for?

Deciding not to stick around long enough to find out, Rose turned on heel- right into the scrutinizing gaze of Hermione Weasley.

"Mum! How perfectly dashing to see you! I was-," Rose shuffled out of the way of her mother. There was a brief, palpable moment of silence, filled by frantic scratching noises that came from the box in her mother's hands. Rose looked at it with an arched brow, but decided that she'd really be better off not knowing.

"Rose," Hermione said quietly in a voice that sounded as though death was imminent- Rose's death, to be precise. "I am going to assume that you are one your way upstairs to change, since you cannot _possibly_ be wearing _the clothes that you sleep in_ to Uncle Harry's _fortieth_ birthday party." Which, of course, Rose thought was incredibly rich coming from her mother, who hadn't seen proper clothing until her fourth year in school.

"Right. Of course. I mean, of course not. I was just on my way. Upstairs. To change," she grinned reassuringly in response to her mum's dubious expression.

Rose ran up the next five flights of stairs, only stopping when she reached the window on the top floor. She brushed the dust off of the little square panel of glass and peered through it, feeling a bit nauseous from the height. Rose was immediately reassured in her decision to flee when she caught sight of the absolute _pandemonium_ unfolding in the back yard. (Which did not, for the record, help with the nausea).

Little specks of people were running everywhere, and more were apparating onto the yard by the second. A great, ballooning sheet of fabric in a magnificent magenta color was being spread over the grass. Slowly, the sheet was lifted upwards and bent into a roof. A glittering flag hovered above it, and was lowered into place. She watched as her mother (the bushy hair could only be Hermione Weasley's) draped tree after tree with gold streamers. It was already looking to be quite a party, and Rose could only imagine how bad it was going to be when the entire yard was actually filled with _people_.

No, Rose decided. She could only imagine how bad it was _really_ going to be when Uncle Harry showed press was going to positively _vomit_ with excitement. She amused herself for a moment, conjuring up images in her mind of reporters regurgitating various party favors.

Of course, Rose had read the newspaper articles and the magazine covers that had featured, as the journalists loved to call them, "The Golden Trio". Page after glossy page recounting Harry Potter's numerous near-death encounters, but none with any direct quotes. As a principle, Uncle Harry never did interviews. Her father particularly liked to make fun of the tabloids that always claimed that he and Harry were divorcing their respective wives to be with one another.

Rose shrugged off the image of her uncle and father exchanging vows (he _had _once pantomimed this in her third year with great gusto, actually) as she turned away from the window and made her way to the attic.

Rose hadn't been to the attic in ages. She distinctly remembered the last time she went up there, thinking she had found the perfect place to hide from Albus during a particularly competitive game of hide and seek. She was hardly in there for three seconds, however, when she walked headfirst into the snoozing ghoul and let out a shriek so bloodcurdling that Albus came running to the attic and declared Rose 'found', barely giving the ghoul a second glance. Uncle Harry had burst through the door seconds later with his wand out, panting and clutching his glasses to his face.

Of course, Rose realized now that ghouls were harmless. As she clambered into the dusty attic, she glanced at the sleeping ghoul almost fondly. It was as docile as a flobberworm, as ugly as it may be.

The attic was stiflingly hot. Rose reached over to the round window and pushed on the bottom. To her dismay, it did not move. She pushed harder, and after a few more moments it popped open, depositing a cloud of dust into the air.

Rose coughed. Her unbrushed hair was expanding exponentially, she still didn't have any shoes on, and she was now covered in a fine layer of dust.

And yet, oddly enough, she was at peace.

Albus Severus Potter surveyed the clear blue sky suspiciously. He had been so sure it was going to rain-but it seemed, he thought a little humorlessly, that even the weather was frightened of Molly Weasley.

As Albus turned his head towards the stray streamers that adorned the grass, he saw something shift above him. A window way up high, on the very top floor of the Burrow, popped open. For a short moment, the glass glinted in the sunlight. How bizarre, Albus thought to himself, for no one had ventured the realms of the attic in years.

"Al," a freckly hand appeared on his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. Ronald Weasley, in a completely uncharacteristic gesture, was _crying_. _Sobbing_, in fact.

"Uncle Ron?" Albus said, alarmed. "What's wrong? Who's hurt?"

"No one," Ron gasped through his tears. "It's... it's the c-cake!"

It was possible that this caused Albus even more anxiety. "Is the cake ruined? Are we going to have some sort of birthday party devoid of any cake? Is that-_is that even a birthday_?"

"Actually, that would be preferred," Ron shook his head. "The cake..." Ron trailed off, finally drying his eyes. He let out a slight chuckle. "Albus, don't you worry. I was just crying-tears of joy, really-about how beautiful his cake is. It's truly, _truly_, a piece of art. Your father is _absolutely_ going to love it," Still laughing, Ron walked away.

"It's cake!" Albus called after Ron. "It's _only _cake!"

Until that day, Albus had never seen the heavens disregard _The Daily Prophet's _weather reports. Or seen his Uncle Ron cry over pastry. Or such a fast-moving cloud.

Albus squinted at the sky, and he realized. That was certainly not a cloud.

**  
There was a sudden cacophony down below. Rose placed her book down and peered through the window. Uncle George had arrived with about four boxes, all of which were moving in opposite directions. Albus glanced at him momentarily, but refocused his attention above, to what seemed like a rapidly approaching swarm of locusts. Upon, closer inspection, however, Rose realized that it was a huge pack of owls, descending with news from Hogwarts.

Within the course of thirty seconds, Rose had leapt over the ghoul, jumped out of the attic, bounded down seven flights of stairs, and burst through the front door. The owls had settled amongst the branches of various trees. She stumbled forward, feeling as if her heart was going to shoot up her esophagus.

"Hey Rose," Albus coughed, materializing behind her. "I think that one's yours." Albus pointed to a gray owl, perched at the very top of the tallest tree. The envelope it bore in its claws displayed Rose's name in a messy scrawl.

"Here, owl." Rose called to it. "Come...here... owl. It's, um, me. Rose Weasley." The owl only turned its head at Rose, and surveyed her mockingly. "Er, please?" The owl seemed to smirk at her, and then, as though it was exasperated by her ineptitude, it swooped down and landed a few feet from her.

Rose walked over to the owl, her fingers shaking as she took the suspiciously light-weight envelope. Albus found his owl amongst the flock and unwound his envelope, as well.

"At least we're not James right now," Albus muttered. Through the window, James Potter was staring at the owls, his eyes wide and paralyzed. Rose spared a small smile. She could only imagine how hard she would be shaking if she was getting her OWLs scores back right now.

Slowly, Rose opened her envelope and pulled out two thin pieces of parchment. On one was the reminder of the start of the school year, and the other, a list of books required for fifth year, along with some materials and ingredients for the more advanced things that they would be brewing in Potions.

Rose peered into her envelope. It was empty. What-

"She's gone _mental._" Albus whispered under his breath. In his palm gleamed a shiny gold crest, a tiny engraving of a lion prancing back and forth across it. "McGonagall has gone mental. _Mental_. Officially lost her mind! She's made me prefect! How many rules have I broken last year alone? I've had more detentions than Quidditch practices! _Mental_."

Rose felt as if her eyebrows were going to stay permanently arched in the middle of her forehead. "Well, congratulations, Al," Rose said, forcing a smile.

"Ah, well. Being a prefect; that might be fun, eh?" Albus hooked his arm through Rose's. She stumbled forward. "We're going to be prefects next year! That's the entire family now, isn't it?"

"Albus, I-"

"Well, okay, fine, James wasn't prefect. Neither was Dad. I don't even know if Mum was."

"Albus-"

"Hmm, you know, I think you're right! I'm the first in the family to be prefect! Our parents are going to be so proud!"

"Albus, _shut up_." Rose snapped. She thrust her empty envelope against Albus' chest. "I'm not prefect, okay? I didn't get it!"

Albus gaped at Rose, his badge still sitting in his clammy hand.

"Stop it," Rose said, her voice much higher than usual. "You look like a _fish_, with your mouth open like that," she added with a hiss.

"Nevermind _my _fishiness!" Albus exclaimed. "_This_ is fishy! I look like a-you think-you think there's been a mistake or something? Maybe they've gotten us mixed up. That would make sense, you know," Albus' fishy-visage was still in place.

"No," Rose said resignedly. "It said your name, didn't it? I suppose," she said with as much dignity as she could possibly gather, "They didn't want me."

Albus looked back down at his badge. "I don't even want this, really," he said. "It's not fair, Rose, you've got the best grades in the year, and the only time you've gotten in trouble it was because you wanted a bloody book from the restricted section!"

"You should go tell your mum, Al," Rose turned around, resisting the urge to rip the envelope in her hand. "She'll be really pleased."

"Rose, don't worry about it," Albus ran after her as he shoved the badge into his pocket. "If anything, you'll be sure to get Head Girl or something-maybe you should talk to McGonagall-."

"No," Rose whipped around. "I'm not going to bother her about it."

Rose turned and slowly made her way back into the house. Behind her, James had finally mustered up the courage to go to the yard and retrieve his O.W.L. scores. Rose had made it up to the fourth floor when she heard his whoop.

"Eight OWLs! Albus, I've got eight OWLs! Uncle George owes me ten sickles!"

"Yeah, James?" Albus replied with a hint of incredulity coating his tone. "Well, I'm prefect, aren't I? The world's gone mad!"

Rose scoffed under her breath, and realized with a feeling of dread that she would eventually have to find out who had gotten the other prefect position. That wasn't the worst of it, though.

Rose hated parties. And this one hadn't even started yet.

* * *

A/N: Hello all! This fic is brought to you by the collaborative efforts of **Erra **and **.nette**! It will span from Rose and Albus' fifth year at Hogwarts to their last.

Reviews, as always, are highly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

The party was to start at the moment Harry Potter walked onto the threshold. In the last few hours, Rose had changed into attire suitable to be seen by the public, taken two dozen trips to and from the kitchen to the backyard, and carefully set almost twenty tables without magic.

Now, at the very least, Rose was sitting at the table she had been assigned to. She scowled at the little napkins that had "HP" embroidered on them in glittering gold thread.

They were nice, she supposed. A few days ago, it had taken all of Aunt Ginny's persuading to keep the napkins from having golden snitches on them, as Uncle Harry was turning forty, not thirteen.

Rose smoothed her skirt down and mulled over how ridiculous this all was. Uncle Harry was turning forty. With such an such an obsessive family, he had to know that this surprise party was coming. He'd be dense not to.

"Something wrong, Miss Weasley?" came a smooth, crisp voice. Rose squinted up into hazy orange sunlight, to see the silhouette of a woman standing over her. She was thin, and was holding something circular in her hand- an apple, maybe. Rose couldn't make out her features; the light shining behind her was blindingly bright. After a few moments, the woman sank into the chair next to Rose and repeated her question.

"N-no. I'm fine. I'm just not a party person." Rose mumbled.

"Not even for Harry Potter's fortieth birthday?" the woman asked, her voice rather wry. Rose regarded the woman carefully. She had never seen her before; she was positive, for the woman had the kind of face that was difficult to forget. She might have looked quite young, with her clear blue eyes and dark hair, but her face was heavily lined. Worry lines, laugh lines, crow's feet- every type of wrinkle the ladies in Witch Weekly could ever fear, this woman wore without a concern.

Rose tried to laugh. "I doubt Harry Potter would be particularly excited to be at anyone's party, let alone his own highly-publicized one with a guest list of over one-hundred people."

"You're quite right," the woman laughed, her smile creasing her face as if she was made of leather, and not flesh. "I remember the first time I met him-I had told him he had better take care of that unsightly mess on his head if he wanted to be presentable. He told me, very earnestly, that he had not had the chance to get a trim since he had 'been on the run for about a year'! That put me in my place-he was only a bit older than you are right now at the time, you know. Never finished school, poor boy."

Rose arched a brow. She had never thought of Uncle Harry as unfortunate for not graduating from school and rising to the top of the Auror Department immediately after the war was over.

"You must be a Gryffindor, like your mother and father," the woman said.

Rose bristled, her grin immediately swiped off of her face. No, she wanted to say. She never wanted to admit that she was a Gryffindor ever again.

"I'm sorry," Rose said a little too coolly, "I didn't catch your name."

"Justice Eugenia Evadne," she leaned forward to shake Rose's hand. Rose stiffly obliged. She couldn't place it, but the woman just seemed to rub her the wrong way.

Suddenly, the lights flickered off. There was a shuffle, and Molly Weasley came hurtling into view, stopping a few feet in front of Rose's table.

"Sonorus," her grandmother pointed at her throat with her wand. Her voice echoed through the room. "Places, everyone! Harry is on his way!" she sprinted forward with surprising speed, rushing to her own table.

The excited crowd quieted quickly, and Rose watched as her father aided a blindfolded Harry Potter towards the entrance of the tent.

Her uncle had his glasses in one hand, the other hand gripping the shoulder of his best friend.

Rose took a moment to look through the tables for Albus. What do you reckon? his expression asked her.

In a flourish, the blindfold fell to the ground. Chairs were pushed back and their inhabitants sprung upwards.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HARRY!"

An enormous amount of shimmering confetti fell from the ceiling, and Rose squinted through it to see her uncle put on his glasses, smiling and looking-not surprised, she supposed, as she tried to place it. He looked kind of frightened. He turned to Ron and said a few words, to which Ron chortled happily and slapped his best friend on the back.

Harry made his way to a positively beaming Molly Weasley, and accepted her giddy hug. She pinched his cheeks, as though he were still the scrawny boy who befriended her youngest son on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago, and ushered him to the stage.

"Er...hi, all," Harry finally began, after much prodding and poking from the elder Mrs. Weasley to say a few words. "Thank you... for attending this... party. For my birthday. And thanks to you all," he added dryly, "who went ahead and planned one anyway after I made it very clear five years ago that you were never to do this again. So...er... thanks. Again." Harry awkwardly looked around and descended from the stage. He made a beeline right for his wife, who stood doubled over with laughter next to Rose's mother. The party-goers laughed-oh, that Harry, so modest- and returned to socializing with one another.

Soon, some music of the non-Celestina-Warbeck variety began to play, and Rose watched gloomily as guests got up and started to dance.

"I would think," said Justice Evadne as she sipped a bubbling purple liquid from a champagne flute, "that Harry Potter's niece would be a little happier at an event held in his honor."

Rose jolted. She had almost forgotten there were other people seated at the same table as her. "Well, parties bother me, but that's not why I'm upset," she admitted.

"What is it, then?"

Rose watched as Justice Evadne leaned forward in her chair. Rose tilted farther back into her own seat. "Er," she gulped.

"Oh, I've got it!" Justice Evadne sat up a little straighter. "You must be at that age where you're taking exams. Bad marks? Don't worry yourself over it, look at myself! I came out absolutely fine, and I didn't get exactly get an O on my Transfiguration exam, did I?"

Rose opened her mouth immediately to protest. She hadn't taken her OWLs yet, but she was sure that she would do just fine on them. She was just about to tell the judge this when she heard a quiet grumble from behind her seat.

"Well, this is sufficiently awful."

"Uncle Harry!" Rose smiled, slightly relieved.

"Ahh... Eugenia, I'm so glad you could make it," Harry said to the justice, his smile looking a bit forced.

"Oh, as if I would miss your fortieth birthday! Don't be silly- the cases can wait," she waved her hand. "Although," she added with a cursory glance at her watch, "I do have to miss the cake. I've got to go to Bath to visit my parents."

"That's unfortunate. We would love to have you stay," Harry said politely.

"I'm going to have a quick word with the minister and be off," she smiled. "It was very nice meeting you, Ms. Weasley."

"Er, thank you. I mean, you too," Rose fumbled.

"See you on Monday," Harry added.

Harry took the chance to sink down into the now-empty seat next to Rose and look at her.

"Rosie," he said with a straight face, "If I found out that you helped set up this party in any way at all, I will not hesitate to disown you." Rose laughed for a moment, forgetting the frustrating conversation she had just had with the ministry's head justice. Then, in the corner of her eye, she saw Albus. He was at a table by himself, inspecting the prefect's badge cradled in his palm.

The smile immediately slipped off of Rose's face.

"What's wrong, Rosie?" Harry asked, sounding rather worried.

"Nothing," Rose said quickly. She looked away from Harry's concerned expression.

"You can't be having a worse day than I am," Harry put his elbows on the table, leaning on them. "I think I've got to say hello to everyone here before the end of the night."

"Typical, Uncle Harry," Rose almost laughed. "You would be complaining about a huge birthday party with Molly Weasley catering the entire event."

"You know me so well," Harry said dryly. "But not," he smirked "as well as I know you. Nothing you say will surprise me. I raised James and Teddy," Harry looked at her expectantly.

"I didn't get prefect."

Harry nodded, "Albus did, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"I was never a prefect," Harry shrugged.

Rose snorted derisively. "Yes, but it's for some noble reason, isn't it? I'm not exactly trying to defeat the darkest wizard of all time, traipsing off into the wilderness with my best friends and facing imminent death."

Harry laughed a little nervously. "Well-yes, I suppose you're right. But I was still quite jealous, you know. I wasn't as nice as I should have been to your parents."

Rose quickly responded. "I also did not recently watch the previously mentioned dark wizard come back to power," Rose wanted to add "and kill a student", but she knew when too much was simply too much.

Harry grinned. "That's generous. You think that's the only reason I as a prat, though? Your dad would probably laugh at you."

"He would," Rose said. "I'm just disappointed," she said airily. "I always looked up to the prefects at Hogwarts."

"I don't think it makes you any worse without it," Harry said seriously. "I mean it."

"Thanks, Uncle Harry," Rose told him, though she still sounded a bit dubious. Whether Harry sensed this or not, she would never know, for at that moment something exploded. Rose swiveled around to see her Uncle George aiming his wand drunkenly at the gold balloons. Harry sighed.

"I better go... take care of this." Harry shook his head, looking amused yet exasperated at the same time. "Don't worry about it, Rosie. It's going to be fine."

-

"Is that your uncle?" a girl with pretty curly hair asked, eyebrows raised. She took a sip of pumpkin juice from the cup she was holding, then looked expectantly at Albus.

Albus blinked, his mouth suddenly dry. "Sorry, what?"

"That man over there. Is he related to you?" the girl pointed in the direction of George. A loud whoop came from George's vicinity as he started to dance on top of a chair.

"No," Albus said without thinking, horrified.

The girl frowned. Albus noticed she had tiny freckles on her nose.

"Really? He's got red hair," she pointed out.

"I haven't got red hair," Albus said a bit defensively.

The girl's frown turned downwards even more. "Well, yes," she admitted. "Never mind."

Albus cleared his throat. "I see you've gotten Prefect as well," he said, gesturing to the prefect badge sticking out of her bag.

Dahlia gave a noncommittal shrug. "Yeah. It really surprised me. I thought Rose would get it."

"Didn't we all?" Albus muttered to himself. When Dahlia didn't respond, he changed the subject and ploughed on with the conversation. "So...how is your summer going, Dahlia?" he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant air.

"Fine," Dahlia shrugged. "I went to the States with my parents at the beginning of the month."

"Oh. I think I went there once," Albus tried to remember. "Er," he said hastily, looking at Dahlia's expectant face, "I was very young, though, so I don't remember much. Was it nice?" Albus said this very quickly, because he suddenly did remember why he had gone to America after he had just turned six. His father had taken him on a business trip to meet their Minister of Magic, or whatever he was called.

"Yes. But I'm much happier to be back," she grinned. "Oh, good! That must be the cake!"

It was all Albus could do to keep from kicking himself. How much more of a bore could he be? He should be going on about how he single-handedly overcame a Hungarian Horntail when he visited his Uncle Charlie this summer (a few extra embellishments never hurt anyone, after all). Albus turned sullenly to his grandmother, who was levitating the cake over to the center of the tent.

And then, he quite suddenly started choking with laughter.

-

The moment Rose saw the cake, she forgot about everything. The Charms essay she had been thinking about outlining. The fact that she had yet to buy her mother a birthday gift. That horrible, sinking feeling that she got whenever she thought about not becoming a prefect.

All of her feelings lifted away as she stared at the thick, creamy frosting that covered the cake. The detail, the colors, the everything was just too much.  
It was, in short, modeled after Harry Potter's very own visage. Everything was done in immaculate detail, and all of it- right down to the thin licorice scar- was edible. What made it worse, though, was that it was magic. The real Uncle Harry's face turned an unsightly, Weasley-worthy maroon as his frosted counterpart amicably grinned at the crowd.

Rose searched quickly for her father, who was standing only a short distance away, closer to the cake than she was.

Ron Weasley was barely standing, bent over with only his head swiveling about to look at other guests' reactions. He was so overcome with laughter that the sounds coming out of his open mouth were hardly sounds at all. "I'm crying!" he was rasping to anyone who would listen. "I'm bloody crying!"

Rose felt a wide grin creeping onto her face. She spotted an unopened butterbeer on the table next to hers and grabbed it. She pried it open and took a hearty swig. This was finally starting to look like a party.

-

Scorpius Malfoy lowered the umber-colored mug he kept on his bedside table from his lips.

It was late at night, but Scorpius found himself awake, unable to sleep after waking up suddenly. Perhaps it was due to the summer. He usually spent his insomniac nights cuddled up with his homework, but he thought he'd actually try to sleep tonight. Guess not.

He kicked off the lush sheets that covered his legs and moved towards the side of his bed. He might as well polish off the last of Flitwick's homework.

From the light outside, Scorpius could make out his pale feet contrasting with the dark wood floors. He put his weight on them, expecting the usual creak of the floorboards. Instead, his ears found the sounds of voices coming from downstairs.

Scorpius froze, glancing quickly at the clock that hung over his desk. As he suspected, it was a few hours after midnight. What could his parents be doing up?

Quietly, he padded out of his room and leaned on the topmost banister of the staircase. He could see his parents, but from this angle he was positive that they could not see him. He leaned in closer, careful not to let the floorboards creak under him.

"Draco, you were supposed to have him under control!" hissed Scorpius' mother. She was usually so composed, so refined. He hardly recognized her at that moment, as she yelled at his father, livid and sweating, a look of panicked frenzy in her eyes.

"It's not my fault, Astoria," Draco responded icily. "Please, have some decorum. You know it won't do any good to have Scorpius wake up."

She gave a disbelieving laugh. "Do you even care? Do you even care that-"

"Lower your voice! It's not my fault, Astoria! Of course I care, but the deed's done. We can't bring anyone back! However, our name is already tarnished enough. That's precisely why we are not going to mention this to anyone."

Astoria regarded her husband with an equally cold gaze and then turned and walked out of Scorpius' range of view. A few moment later, Scorpius heard footsteps at the base of the stairs. Head buzzing with questions, he quietly tucked himself back into the shadows of his room.

* * *

Hello all. We have to warn you, updates won't be terribly regular.

Anyways, reviews would be lovely!

Cheers.


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